


you can linger (like a grind of ginger)

by maidenstar



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Wayhaught, F/F, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First everythings basically, Fluff, Headcanon, Sweet, fill in the canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: “And in the still after their lips part, their breathing the only sound drifting around Nedley’s office, Waverly had been acutely aware that she was getting ahead of herself, that a kiss didn’t necessarily have to mean anything. But that hadn’t been just a kiss, not really.They can both feel the significance of it. It was dancing on the air between them.Then, Nicole shifted position and the air moved, disturbed but not dissipated - shimmering like glitter in a snowglobe.”In Waverly Earp’s life there has been many a presence she’d like to exorcise. There’s been absent parents, lost sisters, ghosts (figurative), witches (literal), demons (figurative and literal). But then, amongst the storm, there is Nicole Haught. There is coming home for the first time in two decades. Slowly, softly they make their moments together where they can - squeezed snugly into the spaces between all the drama.[Or, a series of fill-in oneshots of the soft moments I wish they could have onscreen, commencing with the day after that first kiss].





	you can linger (like a grind of ginger)

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so. when it comes to fanfic, if there is one thing i always surprise myself by writing, it is these kinds of fill-in-the-gaps ficlets. usually i’m working furiously away at one au or another, all the better if i can make it historical (the only thing i know much about). 
> 
> but then when i’m not writing and just whiling away my days maladaptively daydreaming (rip) 99% of my daydreams about my otps are these soft, between the canon scenes; the domestic moments that i think, in our lives, we all live for - whether they be with romantic partners, platonic pals, family, or just...ourselves. 
> 
> i don’t usually write these down (or, if i do, i never finish them) but this piece just wended its way, almost fully-formed onto a document and demanded my attention. as such, i’m going to post it and beg that you be gentle with me as it really isn’t my usual thing. i hope i’m doing this right and i’d super love it if you let me know in the comments, or on either [twitter](https://twitter.com/rositabustiIIos/) or [tumblr](http://birositabustillos.tumblr.com/)

****_you could linger, like a grind of ginger_  
_making love a season_  
_heating up the skin_

 _and as the thin glow of summer's death_  
_will turn the leaves to red_  
_may the wind blow like a lover's breath_  
_still warm as gingerbread_

  
  
_~_

 

 

Waverly wakes to the slim, pale light of yet another monotonous winter’s morning.

The season is oppressive, even for those who like the crisp, cold weather and the feel of a fluffy scarf at their throats. Winter in Purgatory starts early, it ends late, and it isn’t punctuated by much of anything except, perhaps, a snowstorm _slightly_ worse than the rest in that particular year. Even then, it still usually fails to impress at least half of the town’s older populace who always claim they have seen worse.

Right through to March (or even April, if they’re unlucky) it is all short days, long nights, and very little to do but drink and daydream your free time away when the darkness sets in. This happens at four o’clock most afternoons; the long, dead hours are numerous.

It is easy, then, to wake feeling lacklustre, even for Waverly who likes to see the snow and the gentle, blinking lights around Christmastime. Moving back to the Homestead had made some things harder too. There is no functioning central heating, obviously, and for Waverly with her low blood pressure and poor circulation, there is no option but to sleep under every blanket available. Moving around, too, necessitates piling as many of them round her shoulders as possible.

They don’t use the upstairs portion of the house, and Waverly’s room - doorless and crammed into one tiny, drafty corner of the ground floor - isn’t even remotely insulated against the elements. It is akin to sleeping in the barn, and waking in a warm nest of fleece only brings the disappointment of having to brave the cold sooner rather than later.

That morning is not one of those cool, dejected mornings. Waverly’s mood feels as though it belongs in Spring; cool but clear and a bright, breezy blue.

She gives herself a moment, head all but buried under the blankets, to surface and to ensure the feelings cocooned up under the covers with her are real.

She could just as easily be in a dream, but the memories are too vivid.

They play out every time Waverly closes her eyes and, truthfully, no amount of reruns could ever be too many.

There, at the forefront of her mind, are Nicole Haught’s lips, soft but firm on Waverly’s. Nicole’s body strong and lithe atop her, pushing down with just enough weight to make Waverly run _hot_ , but not so much weight that Waverly had felt trapped, her back arching ever so slightly off of Nedley’s couch cushions.

 _Christ_ , Nedley’s couch.

They had lost themselves, fully and blissfully, first for ten minutes; then fifteen; then twenty; and time had never felt more like liquid to Waverly than in that moment. She couldn’t have grasped it if she’d tried. It ran like water in her outstretched hands, spilling through her fingers as Nicole had hooked Waverly’s leg up and over Nicole’s own hip.

It might have been a cliché, but Waverly found that she lost all sense of whether they had been there seconds or hours. They might as well have been there days. There could be nothing more to the world, surely, than the press of Nicole’s lips and the wet warmth of her mouth.

Nicole had waited for Waverly for to feel ready, always for Waverly to move first, but in this dance the steps were all too new to Waverly. She knew she needed Nicole to lead, at least for a while.

Nicole knew it too; she could read every inference hidden in Waverly’s words and in her silences too, like her true thoughts were written in the sky for everyone to see. And yes, Nicole had needed to know that Waverly was sure but once she knew, God did she lead.

Nicole Haught kissed like there was sunshine spilling from her skin, yellow light radiating out of every pore. She had been soft, so impossibly soft, against Waverly; soft words, soft hair and skin and smiles.

She kissed Waverly like she was trying to pour raw emotion from her body to Waverly’s, and Waverly couldn’t have done anything more than kiss back even if she’d wanted to. Kissing Nicole had been overwhelming, so overwhelming that, by the time Nicole pulls away, Waverly had forgotten where breathing ended and embracing began.

Nicole had looked regretful when she pulled back, but there was only a glimmer of it before the dams burst on the sheer strength of her pure, unbridled happiness. Still perched above Waverly, Nicole had looked so happy it was a wonder her body had managed to contain it.

The sight of Nicole like that, slightly ruffled and pink in the cheeks with a loopy, romantic smile on her face had made Waverly’s heart somersault in her chest.

In two decades no one had ever, _ever_ looked at Waverly Earp like that; the way that some people look at canyons and oceans and the stars overhead in the night sky.

There were no other words for the look on Nicole’s face but pure awe and wonder.

It wasn’t the first time that, being around Nicole, Waverly had felt so acutely seen and understood, but it was the first time she’d felt it to that intensity. She had almost needed to repress a shiver at the way Nicole seemed to know her, just by looking.

This was all so new to Waverly and she kind of felt like she was being tossed about on strong waves. In truth she had felt that way for a long time, like she was lost and searching for the shore.

And yet, since they’d met there had been Nicole, a lifeline anchoring her to dry land so that she was free to float, free to drift, but now with the steadfast knowledge of _Nicole_ , right there with her.

Even after nearly four years, Champ had never looked at her with the same intensity as Nicole could pack into a five second glance. The kisses and the physicality, Champ had always made it clear that he enjoyed them but it never felt particular to Waverly. He enjoyed them - she’d just never really known for sure if he enjoyed _her_.

So the newness of these feelings for Nicole _was_ about the girl thing, sure (and hell, Waverly still hadn’t really got her head entirely around that yet). But it was just as much about an adult relationship, an _equal_ relationship with someone who wasn’t, if Waverly was being brutally honest, partly just a convenience of proximity.

And in the still after their lips part, their breathing the only sound drifting around Nedley’s office, Waverly had been acutely aware that she was getting ahead of herself, that a kiss didn’t necessarily have to _mean_ anything. But that hadn’t been _just_ a kiss, not really.

They can both feel the significance of it, dancing on the air between them.

Then, Nicole shifted position and the air moved, disturbed but not dissipated - shimmering like glitter in a snowglobe.

There was a glint her eye as she righted herself, and Waverly watched, unsure, as Nicole’s smile had altered slightly, like she had suddenly found something to be amused by.

Waverly furrowed her brow in a wordless question.

“I’m just thinking,” Nicole had said, voice low and quiet, “that I’ve never wanted a moment to end less than I do now, but something might be said if Nedley comes back and finds us like this.”

Waverly had felt, intensely, the blush spread inch by inch along the arches of her cheeks.

“Not the best timing, huh?”

Shaking her head emphatically Nicole had simply said, “ _perfect_ timing.”

Waverly knew, instantly, that Nicole believed her own words, that this wasn’t a placatory statement. It eased her mind a bit, dulled the nervous thudding of her heart (even if it still continued to beat slightly out of time for other reasons entirely).

Wordlessly, shyly, they had extricated themselves from the couch - and, regretfully too, from each other.

Nicole, first on her feet, had offered Waverly a hand to pull her up and off the couch. Upon taking it, Waverly had marvelled at how their palms fit together so well. Nicole’s hand was so warm against her own - although that was no difficult feat. The pad of her thumb drifted back and forth over the top of Waverly’s hand.

Before leaving, Nicole had stilled Waverly’s hand on the door handle just long enough to bend down for one final, gentle kiss.

All that can follow is a quick check that the coast is clear, and a few stolen moments of knowing, happy looks before Nedley returned. Their timing had been impeccable, and even in the cool light of the morning after, Waverly shudders to think of what might have happened had they delayed parting by even a minute or two.

She had been ready - more than ready, really - to kiss Nicole, but she isn’t ready for the rest of the world to know about it just yet.

It still doesn’t feel real and Waverly has to keep repeating the truth to herself, even as she had done on the drive back to the Homestead.

She had kissed Nicole and Nicole had kissed her back, and that is all that need matter for a little while.

She had contemplated telling Wynonna when she caught Waverly, later that night, with a goofy smile on her face. She’d changed tack at the last minute, however, when she realised that she and Nicole needed to set their own course first, they needed to figure out what they wanted together.

Nicole had seen Waverly off with the promise that she’d text her during a lull in her shift. She hadn’t reneged on her promise, not that Waverly doubted it for a second.

Laying in bed the morning after, she checks the message again.

_‘Did that really happen? Are you real?’_

Waverly doesn’t feel real that morning. She feels like a dream.

 

 

 

 

 

 _This_ Waverly thinks by midday, _must be how it’s supposed to feel_.

She’d never noticed it before, that absence of longing around her relationship with Champ.

She knows rationally that part of the reason she hadn’t stopped thinking about Nicole all morning is because this is all so new, but there is something else there too.

It is the first time, really, that she can feel herself doing and thinking all the clichéd things that people talk about; her stomach turning over, her mind drifting constantly back to that kiss.

She keeps making excuses to wander round the Municipal Centre in hopes she might bump into Nicole, but she is nowhere to be found. Waverly knows that she didn’t leave the station until late last night, so rationally Nicole probably has the day off.

Waverly doesn’t especially want to listen to rationale.

She wants to call Nicole up, hell - she wants to rush round to her house there and then just to see her, and she especially wants to ask her on a proper date.

But Waverly also hasn’t done any dating since she got with Champ, and they were both seventeen and hardly in a position to date in the same way Nicole and Waverly might do now. The thought makes Waverly’s stomach knot again and, for the first time that day, it isn’t in an entirely good way.

She’d told Nicole that she didn’t know how to do this, and she’d meant all of it. She didn’t know how to date women but, Christ, she’d barely dated anyone. Whereas Nicole, with a few years on Waverly and a hell of a lot more life experience, was probably in the opposite position. Waverly genuinely can’t imagine a world where women hadn’t lined up to date Nicole, what with her kind heart and all that proud, gentle beauty.

Nicole, for all her other wonderful qualities, has a degree of intuition, too, that Waverly isn’t sure entirely belongs to regular people. But then again, no one needs to tell Waverly that Nicole is special.

Nicole texts, right as Waverly wonders for the umpteenth time whether it is too soon to call:

 **NH, 12:47** \- Morning, you  
**NH, 12:47** \- Well, afternoon technically but I only went to bed at like 3am  
**NH, 12:48** \- I know you’re working, I don’t want to disturb you by calling. I just wondered if you had plans tonight?

Waverly doesn’t think she has ever texted anyone back so fast. She wonders, right after she hits send on a confirmation that she is free from around five o’clock, whether she should have practiced some haste.

The indication that Nicole is typing pops up at the bottom of the screen immediately, however, and Waverly can’t do anything but smile as she watches the three dots. Nicole had been waiting too.

 **NH, 12:50** \- That’s great, because I was wondering if you wanted to come round? I can cook something for us and we can just have a glass of wine or something?  
**NH, 12:50** \- Only if you want to come to my place, of course.

Waverly’s mind races at the suggestion, genuinely not having expected Nicole to propose meeting up again so quickly. She wants to accept, of course, but dinner at Nicole’s place seems kind of...fast.

Before she can reply, Nicole starts typing again.

 **NH, 12:51** \- And yes, this is me asking you on a date [wink emoji]

Waverly wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t dream of it, not after longing for contact all day like some silly star-crossed lover.

 **WE, 12:52** \- well then, this is me saying i want to go on said date

After a pause, Waverly adds a few heart emojis and a unicorn, just for good measure. Nicole replies with grinning emojis, and then -

 **NH, 12:52** \- Fantastic! I’ll get dinner ready for 7:30pm, but come round any time. We can have a few drinks.

Waverly bites back a smile, acutely aware that she seldom texts while on Black Badge duty. She doesn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. She sends a few more emojis, assuming the conversation is over for now, but her phone chirps again before she can put it in her pocket.

Both Wynonna and Dolls glance up, but neither pays it too much heed.

“Sorry,” Waverly mutters and slides the volume right down to silent.

 **NH, 12:53** \- I’m heading into town btw - I’ll need supplies for dinner. Let me know if I can bring you something for lunch.  
**NH, 12:53** \- [heart emojis]

 **WE, 12:54** \- wait, seriously?

 **NH, 12:54** \- Of course!

 **WE, 12:55** \- i have food but i’d kill for the most enormous latte you can find  
**WE, 12:55** \- only if it’s not too much trouble

 **NH, 12:55** \- No trouble! I’ll be around ASAP - soy milk and caramel shot, right?

 **WE, 12:56** \- yes, perfect! thank you so much!!  
**WE, 12:56** \- only if you’re 100% sure though, i can go without if you’re busy.  
**WE, 12:57** \- guessing it must be your day off.

 **NH, 12:57** \- Waverly…  
**NH, 12:57** \- ...

 **WE, 12:58** \- ???

 **NH, 12:58** \- I’m literally trying to find an excuse to come and see you before tonight  
**NH, 12:58** \- Cut a girl some slack here

 **WE, 12:59** \- OH  
**WE, 13:00** \- yes please bring me all the coffee you can find

 **NH, 13:00** \- [laughing emojis]  
**NH, 13:00** \- Okay, heading off now.

Nicole adds yet more emojis, and Waverly tells her to drive safely before finally putting her phone away.

“Anything you want to share, babygirl?” Wynonna asks mildly from the corner of the room and Waverly jumps. She’d zoned everything else out but Nicole.

For the first time, Waverly notes the megawatt grin on her face. She tries to tone it down slightly.

“Not really,” she says as casually as possible, but Wynonna doesn’t look convinced.

“Chrissy,” Waverly says eventually. “Apparently she had a wild night last night, it sounded hilarious.”

If Wynonna doesn’t seem as though she believes her, it is because the lie is a weak one. Waverly wouldn’t normally text about something like that while she works. But the lie is out there now, and all Waverly can do is pray that Wynonna doesn’t bump into Chrissy and ask about her non-existent wild night of partying.

Waverly turns back to her book as she searches for an obscure reference to one of Wyatt’s kills, huddling over to try and conceal the smile on her face that just won’t allow itself to be suppressed.

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole sends a text about an hour later, informing Waverly that she is waiting outside the Black Badge offices.

Reading the message, Waverly shoots out of her seat fast enough that she bangs her knee slightly on the underside of the table. Sheepishly, she chances a glance at the room’s other occupants. Neither of them looks up from their research but Wynonna shakes her head to herself, evidently bemused at Waverly’s skittishness.

Helpfully, she does not say anything on the subject, but just idly turns the page of her book instead.

As casually as possible, Waverly makes her way into the corridor, Nicole immediately visible just a few feet down from the doorway.

Waverly’s smile grows impossibly wider as they catch sight of each other, and Nicole’s own beaming grin seems as instinctual as Waverly’s feels. She ensures the door is firmly shut behind her before closing the small distance between them and greeting Nicole with a soft, murmured _‘hey_ ’.

Nicole has brought coffee not just for Waverly, but for Wynonna and Dolls as well, and she is balancing two of the cups very precariously, one on top of the other.

Waverly finds that she greets Nicole almost nervously, reaching to take two of the takeout cups from her. When her hand brushes against Nicole’s it is by design and Nicole realises so immediately.

“Hey yourself,” she says by way of return greeting, biting her lip slightly for a moment.

Waverly wonders if Nicole’s heart is racing as much as her own.

“Is today a good day?” she asks softly after a moment, bobbing her head in the direction of the Black Badge office.

“Today is an average day,” Waverly answers unenthusiastically, the answer honest rather than dismissive. But then, a thought flits outwards from the back of her mind. “ _Was_ an average day,” she amends with a coy smile.

She is rewarded by another beaming grin from Nicole.

“Mine’s been really good so far,” Nicole says in response, eyes glinting playfully.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I went to the store. I’m cooking dinner tonight. Eggplant parm, probably. A family recipe.”

“Sounds delicious,” Waverly says softly, playing along immediately. “What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, well I have a date actually.”

“A _date_?” Waverly echoes, taking a tiny, instinctive step closer. “Lucky her.”

“Nah,” Nicole says quickly, voice emphatic as her eyes drift across Waverly’s face. “Lucky me.”

Waverly takes another step forward, so close now that she has to crane her neck to accommodate the height difference between them.

“I’m really looking forward it,” she whispers, dropping their game.

Nicole smiles.

“Yeah?” she murmurs back, voice disbelieving.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” Waverly admits. “Well, that and yesterday evening.”

Nicole gives a  breathy, relieved laugh that sends Waverly’s heart flipping over itself.

“Me too.”

Nicole makes a show of checking that they are completely alone, before ducking her head down for a quick kiss. She means for it to be quick and chaste, and Waverly presumes that Nicole is thinking primarily of Waverly’s comfort.

She deeply appreciates the thought, but Nicole’s lips leave her far too quickly for her liking. Half on instinct, Waverly chases them and Nicole goes along with her willingly.

Waverly allows the kiss to go on as long as she dares (which, given their location isn’t nearly as long as she’d like), before breaking away and dropping down off her tiptoes with a regretful sigh.

“This evening,” Nicole reminds her gently and Waverly nods.

“What time do you want me to aim for?”

“Do you want the honest answer or?” Nicole says with a grin and Waverly laughs.

“Arguably, yes. But the realistic answer maybe?”

“Let’s just say call round once you’re free. You’re welcome at all times.”

“I’ll come to you via the Homestead,” Waverly decides. “I think I’ll want to change first.”

Nicole gives an easy half-shrug.

“Sure, whatever you’d like. Just text me when you’re on your way.”

Waverly nods, and they chance a final kiss before they part. Waverly awkwardly takes all three coffee cups with her, and Nicole sees her inside before heading off.

Dolls and Wynonna prove to be hugely grateful for their unexpected caffeine fix, and Waverly sips slowly at her own sweet latte as she tries to while the next few hours away.

The afternoon ticks by slowly, as can only be the way when there is something so important to look forward to at the end of it.

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole’s house is set a little way out of town, not as isolated as the Homestead by far, but probably somewhere equidistant between. It means that Waverly more or less has to pass it on her way home, but it is worth the extra drive to be able to go home and freshen up.

Waverly wouldn’t exactly say that she is consciously trying to make an effort, but that is precisely what she ends up doing.

It does feel a little absurd, standing in front of every stitch of clothing she owns after a rapid shower, trying to work out what outfit might well straddle the line between making an effort and not coming across as overdressed for what is, effectively, a night in.

(Even if it might just be one of the most significant nights in of Waverly’s life to date).

In the end she settles on a happy compromise of a flowery skirt and cropped t-shirt combo - not something she wouldn’t normally wear, but also something she felt confident in. At the last minute, she shrugs a woolen cardigan on too - even if she only has to make it from the front door to the car (and back again), it has been far too cold to eschew an outer layer.

The drive to Nicole’s house isn’t too drearily long, and Waverly entertains herself partly with the odd glance at the barren, wintry landscape on either side of the road, but mostly with some loud, bubbly pop tracks. If she gets the volume up high enough, she can drum her fingers on the steering wheel and pretend that she’s going along with the beat of the music, and not the rhythm of her own nerves.

She is excited to see Nicole again, that is surely her prevailing emotion as she pulls up into Nicole’s driveway, but she is also slightly nervous now that the evening is upon them. The weight of this being an actual first date settles over her, not necessarily oppressive but noticeable nonetheless.

Waverly makes a meal of checking the handbrake and switching off the headlights, and then of collecting her bag and the supplies she’d picked up before leaving town.

Her boots crunch satisfyingly on the gravel as she jumps down from the borrowed truck. She plays at straightening her skirt once, twice, and then three times. She gives one long inhale, followed by a longer exhalation. Rolls her sleeves up to the elbow then pulls them down to her wrists again.

She checks for ice on the drive (probably the only necessary delay of them all) before stepping carefully up the porchway steps and rapping her knuckles on the front door. She can hear telltale sounds from within, and then a voice saying something she can’t quite understand, before the door swings open and there Nicole is.

She smiles when she sees Waverly and it is that same smile that seems to be reserved just for their interactions. Nicole is always giving when it comes to writing her emotions on her face; she offers gentle smiles freely and she struggles not to frown when something is wrong. But the smile she gives Waverly there and then, one that dimples her cheeks even more than normal, makes Waverly feel light and weightless. It makes her wonder, too, why she’d been nervous for even a second.

This was Nicole. Warm, kind Nicole who put Waverly at ease just by being.  

Waverly knows that the rough tides are still carrying her as before, as they always have done since her father died, since her sisters left her in their own, varied ways. But under Nicole’s gaze as she welcomes her warmly inside, Waverly starts to see that untethered could one day be unhindered, if her feelings for Nicole are allowed to grow and change and _settle._

She can smell food as she allows Nicole to shut the door behind them, cutting the cold breeze off with a confident clatter.

“Dinner smells incredible,” Waverly remarks as she bends to unzip her boots.

“I seriously hope it tastes as such,” Nicole replies, looking happy with the compliment. “Oh, you can leave them on in the kitchen if you want,” she adds, nodding at Waverly’s shoes.

But Waverly glances down and notes Nicole in her socks, and resolves to be the best houseguest she can possibly be.

“No, it’s fine. You just have to promise not to laugh at my socks,” she says sternly.

Nicole solemnly crosses her heart as Waverly steps out of her boots, revealing fluffy, spotted socks pulled halfway up her calves. It hadn’t twigged until she was halfway to Nicole’s house that she’d left them on, as she is so used to wearing them under shoes for warmth.

Nicole’s lips do twitch into a smile when she sees them, but there is an affectionate glow to the look she gives Waverly’s feet.

“I forgot I’d be taking my shoes back off,” Waverly explains, wiggling her toes slightly.

“I’m glad,” Nicole says cryptically as she leads Waverly onwards towards the kitchen-come-diner. Waverly doesn’t quite understand what she means, though, and Nicole realises a moment later.

“It’s nice to think that you’ll feel comfortable here, at home you know?” she explains and, as Waverly takes a few surreptitious peeks around the house, it is hard to see how anyone couldn’t feel comfortable here.

The overwhelming vibe of the place is, simply, cosy. What she sees of the house feels warm, both literally and figuratively, and it is so ineffably _Nicole_ from the neat but stuffed bookshelves in the hallway, to the soft-looking couch that Waverly glimpses in the living room.

Nicole catches Waverly looking, and that affectionate smile blooms again.

“I’ll give you the grand tour in a moment if you like, although there’s not much to see.” She leads them into the kitchen and moves quickly to the oven, “I just need to turn this down.”

Waverly colours slightly. “Sorry, born nosy - I guess.”

Nicole shrugs, her back to Waverly as she adjusts the temperature on the cooker.

“There’s nothing better than nosing around other people’s houses. That’s why there’s so many property shows on TV.”

“True,” Waverly concedes as she hangs her bag off of one of Nicole’s dining chairs by the strap. “Is this okay here?”

“Of course,” Nicole says congenially, turning to look. “Just make sure you keep an eye on it when you can. I live with a thief.”

Waverly remembers, suddenly, that Nicole has a cat.

“If you have keyrings that jangle,” Nicole adds, “then maybe hide them.”

“Noted.”

Waverly tucks her keys safely into a zip-up pocket, before turning to the large, oddly shaped carrier bag she’d brought in from town.

“I, um. I got you these,” she says, feeling absurdly shy about handing over the small bundle of flowers. She hadn’t really known what gift to bring with her, or indeed if Nicole would want anything. In her head she’d imagined picking up a sweet selection of wildflowers, but it wasn’t the season for them.

Still, Nicole looks delighted as she accepts the hand-chosen bouquet, the papery wrapping rustling in her hands. She takes the time to examine the bright tulips, and drifts a finger across the dappled petals of a particularly pretty purple and white carnation.

“I didn’t really know if you liked flowers or not,” Waverly explains, voice drifting softly through the hush that falls as Nicole takes in the gift.

“They’re beautiful,” Nicole announces swiftly, “I love them, thank you. You didn’t need to though, I didn’t have time to - ”

“I wanted to. You’re making dinner, you bought wine. It’s not much in comparison.”

Nicole carefully lays the flowers on one of her worktops, touching them as though they are something precious.

“I’ll put them in a vase,” she insists, “but in a moment.”

Waverly knows her intention without her saying anything more, welcomes the way Nicole comes closer. Waverly’s vision narrows only to her.

Nicole leans down and sweeps her lips lightly against Waverly’s, barely a ghost of contact, still seeking permission even twenty-four hours after Waverly had all but tackled her onto her boss’s couch.

Waverly arches upwards, seeking the contact, and she sighs when Nicole perceives her assent. Waverly melts into the feel of firm lips on her own, into the taste of spearmint toothpaste, as though Nicole had brushed her teeth barely two minutes before Waverly’s arrival.

She hooks her hands around Nicole’s neck, anchoring herself as she feels Nicole drift her own hand up to Waverly’s jaw in a feather-light touch that makes Waverly shiver.

There is every possibility for the kiss to linger, for it to deepen, but Nicole brings them apart after a moment or two, both of them gasping, aching, _parched_.

Nicole tilts her forehead down towards Waverly’s, holding them there for a second as they both breathe and Waverly feels that she could blend into Nicole without a second thought. But then Nicole places a chaste peck on Waverly’s cheek and draws herself back, her restraint fully restored.

“Ground floor tour?” she asks softly and, still somewhat star-struck, Waverly just nods mutely.

“Like I say,” Nicole goes on, “there’s not much to see.”

Still, she leads them on and into the living room in peaceful silence. As they walk to the centre of the room, she reaches out and threads her fingers loosely through Waverly’s, silently giving Waverly the final call on whether to bring their hands fully together.

Waverly does so without hesitating, and even if it feels slightly strange to be holding hands there in the middle of Nicole’s living room, it feels comforting too.

Nicole does her best tour guide impression, directing Waverly left where she can find a DVD collection back from when no one had _Netflix_ (“feel like you can tell a lot about someone from their old DVDs”), and then right, where there’s a modest succulent forest on the windowsill (“they’re the only plants the cat hasn’t managed to destroy yet”).

There is a study-come-spare bedroom off the living room, where there are yet more filled bookcases, in which Waverly spots an eclectic mix of fiction and reference books. As in the hallway, some of the shelves have a few sparse ornaments or other plants on them, and Waverly spots one photo frame which contains a group photo picture that can only be Nicole’s Academy class.

Nicole points out a downstairs bathroom for future reference, and a utility room in which she stops just long enough for Waverly to catch sight of a washer and dryer, a cat litter tray, and three enormous bags of the litter itself.

“What? It was on offer,” Nicole explains with a shrug at Waverly’s look. “And it’s gonna get used.”

They are back to the kitchen before much longer, and Nicole insists that Waverly make herself comfortable as she fills a colourless glass vase with water and lovingly arranges the flowers inside.

Instead of sitting, Waverly asks if she can make herself useful by pouring drinks or getting dishes ready and, while Nicole refuses for a while, she eventually concedes and directs Waverly to a cupboard full of glasses.

The wine - a semi-fancy looking Riesling - is chilling in the fridge, beside which Waverly sees a wall-mounted noticeboard, filled with an array of papers. She distracts herself by looking through them, feeling nosy again as she looks through a bundle of takeout menus, Nicole’s work schedule for the upcoming month, as well as all sorts of to-do and to-buy lists.

A few old ticket stubs are pinned to the bottom for, Waverly assumes, posterity and right in the centre of them is a greetings card that Waverly recognises instantly. Covered on the front in a generic floral pattern because there hadn’t been a specific ‘welcome’ card available, Waverly had left it on Nicole’s desk one morning after their first meeting. Inside, she had written some spiel welcoming Nicole to Purgatory and wishing her luck in her role.

Waverly feels a stab of mild embarrassment thinking back to that iteration of herself. It is so obvious now that she’d had a crush on Nicole right from the get-go, but somehow she hadn’t recognised it initially. She’d found every excuse to leave Nicole little tokens or to bring her coffee just so they could make conversation.

She had been actively searching out ways to see Nicole - and she hadn’t wanted to admit her fascination to even herself.

Finally tearing herself away, Waverly collects the wine and turns around to see Nicole watching her impassively, her eyes gentle.

“Sorry,” Waverly says, apologising again for being so curious.

“Don’t,” Nicole replies. “You don’t have be sorry for that. You’re not invading my privacy just by looking at the stuff I openly display in my kitchen. Well, as you’re a welcome guest it’s not invasive. Probably different if the person didn’t let you in their kitchen.”

This puts Waverly back at ease and, satisfied, Nicole turns to take a large ceramic dish out of the oven. The delicious smell increases twofold as she sets the dish on a wire rack.

Waverly pours their wine - a decent measure for each of them - and muses aloud,

“I suppose I just want to know everything I can,” she explains. “Not sure if that’s weird or not.”

Nicole quirks an eyebrow as she fetches plates, her expression playful.

“Not sure if you should want to get to know the person you’re on a date with?” she jokes, and the words should cut through Waverly but they don’t, not at all. Nicole’s delivery is so gentle, so deliberately reassuring in their implication that it is alright for Waverly to want so badly to know and to learn.

“Well jeez when you put it like that,” Waverly replies with a grin, putting their glasses on the table and taking a seat.  

Nicole just smiles back, flitting about the kitchen on muscle memory as she retrieves a loaf of crusty bread, setting it in the centre of the table with butter and a breadknife. She pours water for herself, and grabs a second glass for Waverly, and, finally, she places two steaming plates of food down and lowers herself into the seat opposite.

Her ministrations give Waverly time to think, time to wonder at just how far behind the starting blocks she is in terms of relationships. With Champ her interest had often been conceived as prying or nagging, but Nicole seems happy that Waverly wants to know her - and now that Waverly thinks about it, it is so obvious that this is the natural order of things.

“This looks amazing, thank you,” Waverly says, taking a sip of water.

“Be careful, it’s gonna be molten inside,” Nicole murmurs, cutting up her own food and watching as it steams like a volcano.

“This was one of my grandma’s favourite things to cook whenever she took care of me and my sister. My sister was just _the_ fussiest eater, but she always ate this when gran cooked it. So she cooked it a lot. Aside from sugar cookies and cupcakes, it was the first thing she taught me to make.”

Waverly sees immediately what Nicole is doing; she is telling. She wants Waverly to know, and to feel okay about knowing. She wants to share, and to give more of herself to Waverly.

“Your grandma taught you well,” Waverly observes, blowing on a tiny forkful. “Or is it just natural skill?”

Nicole laughs. “Definitely not natural skill, but I do okay I guess.”

“Good, because I can’t cook at all so I’m totally gonna come round and eat all your food,” Waverly jokes.

“You’re welcome anytime.”

Nicole says this with a weight that defies cordiality, that allows the truth of the sentiment to shine through. It makes Waverly’s heart beat a little faster, and it hangs in the air between them - not awkward per se, but laden with implication.

After a pause as they blow on their food, Waverly thinks to ask Nicole about the fridge magnets she owns. Each seems to be a souvenir from another country or city, and Nicole launches immediately into an account of her time out travelling.

“I went for a bit before college, and then once again between my degree and joining the Academy,” she explains. “I did Criminal Justice at college, and it was a tough couple of years. Rewarding, but tough,” she amends with an absent smile on her face, evidently recalling a treasured time.

“I’d always been pretty certain I was going to become a cop, it was the only job I’d ever wanted since I was a kid. But then my degree threw up all these other potential career paths - forensics, law, detective work, all that kind of stuff. I just needed to take a few months out and make sure my heart was still in the same place.”

“I guess I’m lucky it was,” Waverly points out, starting in on her wine. Unconsciously, Nicole mirrors her.

“How so?”

“I doubt you’d be practising law or forensics in little old Purgatory.”

Nicole bows her head. “True. Although we certainly have our run of fatalities here.”

Her eyes cloud over and Waverly wants to kick herself. It had been hard to _not_ tell Nedley and Nicole that a “morgue technician” had been involved in Nicole and Wynonna’s abduction. The remaining secrecy still left a bitter taste in Waverly’s mouth, even now. Nicole deserved better than weak half truths.

And now, on their first date, Waverly had reminded Nicole of the kidnapping, of needing to be resuscitated on a cold, ugly corner of a road in the middle of nowhere.

“Don’t,” Nicole says gently as Waverly opens her mouth to apologise. “No more ‘sorrys’. I shouldn’t let it get to me so much, it’s just hard to shake on some days.”

“You don’t have to bottle it up,” Waverly offers. “It’s okay to tell me if you’re struggling.”

“I know,” Nicole replies evasively, taking another sip of wine. She doesn’t sound convincing. “But right now I’d rather talk about other things.”

“Okay. How about for now you just tell me about travelling before college instead?”

Over the rim of her wine glass, Nicole sends Waverly a playful look that knots Waverly’s stomach pleasantly.

“Only if you promise you’ll tell me if I start sounding like one of _those_ people.”

“I do solemnly swear.”

And so, Nicole speaks.

She speaks more than Waverly has heard her speak, uninterrupted, in all the time they have known each other. She speaks about the East Coast Trail, about Patagonia and Chile, about Santa Cruz and the _Cueva de las Manos_.

As Nicole speaks the weight that Waverly had felt on the way over, making the night seem heavy with potential, suddenly shifts. It had never felt oppressive, nor had it felt crushing, only noticeable and hard to place. But as Nicole speaks about travelling and Academy training and Waverly, in her turn, responds with stories of distance learning and niche online courses, the weight settles on Waverly and she works out how it feels in a quick but silent moment of epiphany.

It feels like blankets (always more than one) over her shoulders in the dead of winter. It feels like warmth and the comforting presence of a hand on your shoulder.

It feels _right_.

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere in the course of the night they migrate from the hard wooden chairs of the kitchen to Nicole’s couch, which turns out to be as soft and cosy as it looks. Nicole lets Waverly drape a blanket over her lap and they sit with their bodies angled towards each other, words still spilling easily between them.

Nicole switches her TV on for background noise, but keeps the volume down low. Neither even registers what plays, but with the living room lights dimmed way down, the shifting scenes on the screen bathe them both in soft lights that flicker between blues and greens and yellows.

Waverly marvels at how beautiful Nicole looks like that, in that strange light that alternates between soft (illuminating the gentle curve of her cheeks) and harsh (highlighting the proud, strong corner of her jaw).

With the truck parked in the drive, Waverly can’t have more than another half-glass of wine and Nicole graciously ceases drinking when Waverly does. As a substitute, she produces a few bottles of ginger beer from the utility room and assures Waverly that they’ll finish the wine together ‘next time’.

When she sits down again and sets the bottles on the coffee table, she occupies a place somewhat closer to Waverly than before. Their knees brush, and Waverly - feeling bold and giddy, not on wine but on company - shifts slightly so that their legs press together.

The motion causes Nicole to turn sharply towards her, eyes searching Waverly’s face for intent.

Waverly can read from Nicole’s own expression that she is always erring on the side of caution, aware of the newness of this all for Waverly. She isn’t going to push and, right now, Waverly feels grateful beyond words.

Because she wants this, she _knows_ she wants Nicole, but she is still navigating that feeling and still trying to lay out what it all means in her own mind. Attraction to women, that evident reality that had surfaced years back, had been boxed up and labelled ‘for later’ a long time ago.  But ‘later’ hadn’t come soon enough, Nicole had overtaken it by a country mile.

Nicole, who’d gone to college and trained as a cop, who’d travelled and dated, and somehow - inexplicably - still wanted Waverly. Waverly, who by comparison had never even left the Ghost River Triangle, whose family history had to be in the running for some of the most screwed up in history, who had never dated another woman…

Nicole, however, doesn’t seem to care about any of this, especially as she holds Waverly’s gaze solidly, waiting for Waverly to choose the next move. In fact, Nicole’s face shines with an affection, a fondness, that Waverly has scarcely been faced with before.

It makes it impossible not to kiss her again, and so Waverly leans forward and marks it down as the fourth time she has kissed Nicole Haught. It is no less intoxicating than the times before, and Waverly wonders if it ever could be.

If anything it is better, as Nicole starts to pick up on Waverly’s impulses and reactions. She has learned, already, a few of the ways to make Waverly whimper.

Nicole waits for Waverly to push forward, to strive to bring them closer on the confined space of the couch. When she does, Nicole draws Waverly’s bottom lip between her teeth, letting them scratch ever so slightly against Waverly’s skin.

Waverly makes an unintentional, unbidden noise in the back of her throat, before raking her fingers through Nicole’s loose hair. Nicole shudders deliciously at the touch, and Waverly drags her fingers lightly over Nicole’s scalp again to the same effect.

Waverly has always liked to research.  

She finds she wants to be everywhere, to melt into Nicole completely, but she settles on letting her other hand splay across Nicole’s knee, her handspan long enough that she clutches slightly at Nicole’s thigh through her jeans.

Nicole drops her own hands to Waverly’s hips, the tips of her fingers just slightly grazing Waverly’s bare skin above the waistband of her skirt.

Waverly inches as close as she can without getting into Nicole’s lap, and is just contemplating how enticing it would be to dart her tongue out against Nicole’s lips when a loud, aggravated mewl sounds from somewhere behind her.

Waverly jumps back, nearly shooting out of her skin at the sound. She as isn’t used to having a cat around as Nicole, who just sighs and looks over Waverly’s shoulder at the intruder.

“Nice to see you too,” she says dully and Waverly reluctantly turns to catch her first sight of Nicole’s pet. Standing just across the way is an imperious-looking ginger cat, who is watching Waverly with an expression that is nothing short of contemptuous.

“Why do I get the impression she doesn’t like me?” Waverly asks tentatively and Nicole sighs again.

“Because Calamity Jane is both possessive and insecure.”

Waverly turns back to Nicole, glad to be away from the cat’s unsettling surveillance.

“Calamity Jane?”

“Yeah, she’s also a disgrace to her family name,” Nicole explains with a shake of her head. “Some cat. She never lands on her feet, she loses fights with inanimate objects, and I’m certain the only proof that she’s feline is that she has multiple lives.”

“But I’m guessing she’s a good pet to have around? I mean clearly she loves you if she’s this mad about me.”

“I don’t know if I’d call her a pet,” Nicole says, matching the cat’s steely glare so well it is almost eerie. “I actually think that she came out of Pandora’s Box with the other monsters.”

Waverly smiles. It is clear that Nicole loves the cat even if she pretends otherwise for comic effect.

“So is she just programmed to be mad at me?”

“No I think she’s mostly mad because you’re in her spot.”

Waverly chances another look at the cat, who has since sat down with her tail curled delicately round herself.

“You know what, maybe I should give it back to her,” Waverly admits reluctantly. It is close to eleven o’clock and they both need to work in the morning.

“I mean, you don’t have to let CJ’s attitude problem drive you away, but it is getting late. You must be tired.”

“A little,” Waverly concedes. “And Wynonna will want to know where I’ve been.”

“What will you tell her?” Nicole asks as they both stand up. The question sounds offhand, but Waverly isn’t sure whether to read more into it.  

She buys herself a moment by neatly folding the blanket and draping it over the back of the couch again. As soon as she is a mere step or two away, Calamity Jane darts up to the very spot that Waverly has just vacated.

The little cat immediately turns in circles before curling up, making a point to dig her claws into the upholstery.

“I mean - ” Waverly starts, acutely aware that she needs to find a way to fill the silence.

Nicole catches the slightly panicked looked on her face and quickly reaches out to take Waverly’s hand.

“I’m sorry, that was intended as a totally transparent question, but probably sounded super loaded,” she explains. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It is okay, right? If I lie to her for now?”

“Waves, it’s _fine_. It’s not even remotely my decision - it’s a hundred percent yours to make.”

Waverly inhales quickly. “But I still need to know that you’re okay with it. Because I don’t want to hurt you by being secretive for a while.”

“You won’t,” Nicole says simply, and it is exactly the way Waverly needed to hear it. “There’s no pressure, okay? There’s no pressure with me, no pressure in deciding where we’re heading and when - it’s at your pace, yeah? It’s new, I get it. And _we’re_ new too, we’re new to each other. I only want to ask you to make one promise, if that’s alright?”

Nicole waits for Waverly to nod before going on.

“Please just promise me that you’ll keep telling me what you need as we go. Just tell me if there’s something more I can be doing while you figure things out, okay?”

Waverly feels a tension in her shoulders fade outwards as quickly as it had settled. In its place follows a large lump in her throat, demanding to be noticed. It has been a long time since someone has so openly put Waverly’s needs first and Nicole’s support hits Waverly hard, somewhere in her chest.

“Promise,” Waverly says softly as she stretches up to place a tiny kiss on Nicole’s cheek. She is frightened her voice will crack if she says anything more, and so, silently, they both prepare for her to leave.

Waverly gathers her bag and slips on her shoes before loitering at the front door. She doesn’t really want to leave, but it is far too soon for her to stay, even in the guest bedroom.

“Nicole, thank you,” she says as Nicole unlocks the door for her. “Dinner was incredible, I’ve had a wonderful night.”

Waverly has lost count of how many times Nicole has smiled that night, but she loses herself in the sight of it every time.

“We’ll have to finish that wine soon, yeah?” Waverly suggests, testing the waters and trying to gauge Nicole’s feelings.

As ever, Nicole makes them clear.

“As soon as you’d like Waves.”

“Very soon, then,” Waverly replies, wanting to give Nicole as much warmth in return.

They part with a kiss on the porch, under the unflattering glare of the security light and Nicole sees Waverly out the drive, extracting a promise that Waverly will text once she is home.

The return journey feels quicker, Waverly’s mind racing to replay the night in its entirety as she drives.

Wynonna is out when she arrives back at the Homestead and perhaps it is for the best right now. Waverly doesn’t want to keep things from her sister, but there will be time to tell the rest of the world later.

She fires off a quick text to Nicole as she brushes her teeth, her reflection in the bathroom mirror scarcely someone she recognises. She feels like she is glowing from the inside out, and wonders how she will keep the light from being noticed for a while.

Nicole gets back to her as she settles into bed again, her thoughts exactly the same as when she had woken that morning - focussed on Nicole. It feels as though a lot has changed in the space of a few short hours although, practically, very little has happened.

Spending the evening with Nicole had given Waverly a lot to think about. It was early doors, Nicole had all but admitted that herself, but there is a feeling of certainty deep in the pit of Waverly’s stomach that she can’t quite explain.

Being with Nicole feels like coming home; it always has done.

There is a future blooming here, she can sense it already.

For the first time that she can remember, Waverly can feel hope building inside of her at what is to come. Even if it won’t be easy - things in Purgatory never are - there is something to work for now, and _lord_ is Waverly determined to work at it.

A world of possibilities are on the horizon, and each one seems to play out as Waverly drifts off to sleep. And though they vary wildly in content, they all have one thing in common.

 _Nicole_.

**Author's Note:**

> so, i know the idea that nicole and waverly’s first proper date takes place at nicole’s house is quite a common one, but it is also the headcanon that i myself have had for a while too. it felt unlikely that they’d go out in purgatory for their first time, because a romantic date wouldn’t be possible with all those prying eyes and, probably, no setting particularly geared towards a sweet and earnest first date. i had initially thought that one of them might have booked a casually unassuming restaurant in the city, but the s2 finale seems to imply (absolutely absurdly imo but nvm) that waverly had never before left the ghost river triangle. so, since then, this glimmer of a headcanon has fully crystalised into...well, this. which i hope you liked. 
> 
> as with all my fics, i have a corresponding picspam for this one, which can be found [here](https://twitter.com/rositabustiIIos/status/939232246980071424) and [here](http://birositabustillos.tumblr.com/post/168333006588/you-can-linger-like-a-grind-of-ginger-and-in). this won’t be a regularly updated fic like my current wayhaught one (we could be lifted), but i will sporadically add oneshots (either to this fic, or to an interlinked series as i have a few that might be rated t or m) as and when i think of/complete them between work, life, and editing my yet-to-be-posted wayhaught au (wearp vs the mummy, kids. why am i doing this again?). 
> 
> also, i should add: the title and opening lyric both come (in slightly amended format) from the song gingerbread by some of my all time favourite folk artists, nancy kerr and james fagan. if you’re a fan of music that makes you feel like someone’s giving your soul a hug, then i’d recommend checking them out. fragile water and dark honey are too beautiful for words. 
> 
> thank you again for reading, i’d be honoured to receive a comment if you have the time - and as always please take care <3


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